Whether Blibbering Humdingers and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks actually existed…
That really was a question.
Holding the Thestral's reins, Sean hadn't had time to think about it for long before Hagrid came back, flustered and annoyed.
"Reckon he's goin' ter wander fer a bit," Hagrid said. "Sorry ter trouble yeh again, Sean. I'll take it from here— FIRST–YEARS, THIS WAY!"
He bellowed so loudly that the first–years flinched and scurried after him toward the boats.
The rest of them climbed into the "self-moving" carriages. The carriages lined up in a row, creaking and rocking as they trundled along the road.
They rattled past the big stone pillars that marked the gate onto the school grounds, each topped with a winged boar.
Hogwarts Castle slowly loomed larger out of the darkness: tower after tower rising high and black against the night sky, with the occasional window pouring out a blaze of scarlet light above their heads.
"She really is odd."
Hermione frowned, glancing at the little group here. Sean was reliable, but he almost never said outright that he disliked someone; Justin was just a bit of an idiot; and Neville was even worse than Justin.
"Maybe… I mean, yes, judging from what just happened, I suppose that's true."
Justin quickly backtracked when he noticed Hermione's face darkening.
The entrance hall glowed red under the torchlight, echoing with the sound of hundreds of footsteps.
They crossed the flagstone floor toward the two large doors on the right leading into the Great Hall, where the Start-of-Term Feast would be held.
Inside, four long house tables were packed full of students. Above them, the enchanted ceiling — a perfect mirror of the starless night sky outside the tall windows — was currently pitch black.
Hundreds of candles floated in midair, lighting up the few silvery ghosts drifting between the tables and throwing a warm glow over the excited faces below. Students were chatting at the top of their lungs, trading holiday news, shouting across to friends in other houses, and giving each other long looks at new haircuts and new robes.
They split up there, and Sean slowly made his way to the Ravenclaw table.
Strangely, the benches were full from back to front — except for a clear space at the very front, as if that seat had been deliberately left open.
The murmuring along the Ravenclaw table died away as Sean approached. Dozens of eyes followed him with open respect as he walked toward the frontmost spot.
"Do you think he'll come back to the team?"
Roger Davies sounded a little uneasy. The old captain had graduated in high spirits, leaving Roger newly promoted in his place.
Last year, they had taken the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup. One look at the bronze-and-blue streamers, at that great eagle banner spread wide in flight, and every Ravenclaw knew exactly who they had to thank.
A certain first-year had practically become the house's living mascot, his stories spread all through Hogwarts:
Taking down a troll alone; foiling You-Know-Who's plot; being the first student in centuries granted permission to stay at school over the summer…
And over this same summer, Witch Weekly had even snapped a photo of that small figure entering Fairy Tale Workshop — with an invitation in his hand.
They'd all assumed that shop had nothing to do with Hogwarts students at all.
"Don't be too greedy, Roger," Prefect Penelope Clearwater reminded him, then turned back with a smile.
"Sean, how was your summer?"
"Very good, Prefect Penelope."
Sean sat down at the very front, still puzzled. This was supposed to be Penelope's seat.
Up at the staff table, Sean's usually calm expression shifted slightly as he looked at the wobbling old hat. At Sorting time, it was only natural that he remembered that wretched hat's behavior.
"Ginny Weasley—GRYFFINDOR!"
Professor McGonagall was still conducting the Sorting as usual.
A cute, red-haired little witch took off the Sorting Hat; the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers. The Weasley twins nearly stood on the bench to clap.
Ginny stole a quick glance toward the Ravenclaw table, then hurried off to join the clapping lions.
"Nice to meet you — do you know Sean Green?"
she whispered to the girl next to her.
"Honestly — congratulations, you've barely arrived and you already know the most famous one in school."
the girl laughed, shaking her head.
"Luna Lovegood!"
McGonagall called next.
A smattering of polite applause came from the Ravenclaw table.
"Sean, I heard you went to that Fairy Tale shop. What do they sell in there? Is it really that kind of bread that can turn you into a magical creature?"
Michael Corner leaned in from somewhere down the bench, full of curiosity.
"Strictly speaking — it's biscuits, not bread."
Anthony Goldstein corrected him, book in hand.
"All right, all right, as long as it's not Terry's gluey potato mess."
Michael held up his hands in surrender.
"It's potato pie!"
Terry Boot muttered, a bit annoyed.
"I can't tell the difference," Michael grumbled, then added in a placating tone, "Of course it's pie, definitely not potato bombs or potato planes or anything…"
They quickly got carried off into their own bickering. Sean, book in hand, didn't really pay them much attention — until a figure practically bounced into the empty seat beside him.
"I'm Luna. Pleased to meet you."
She seemed entirely unaware that her name had just been called.
"Sean Green."
Sean replied.
"You read The Quibbler too?"
Luna asked in that lilting, sing-song voice.
"I've seen part of it."
Sean said, referring to the interview request The Quibbler had sent him over the summer. He'd turned it down, but Mr. Lovegood had still mailed him a stack of issues and books.
"Then do you think Cornelius Fudge has his own secret army? An army of heliopaths?"
Luna asked very seriously.
"Impossible."
Anthony said flatly this time.
"They absolutely exist."
Luna insisted.
"What's a heliopath?"
Michael asked, sounding totally lost.
"They're fire spirits,"
Luna said, her protruding eyes going even wider and making her look more deranged than before.
"They're great flaming beings that gallop across the earth, burning everything in front of them to ashes—"
"They don't exist."
Anthony declared just as seriously.
"Oh, they do!"
Luna shot back, offended.
"All right, why don't you both go find evidence,"
Michael cut in quickly,
"whoever's explanation makes more sense wins, fair?"
While they argued, Sean quietly drifted away from them, mulling over Ancient Runes. He'd never been interested in these little squabbles.
The only thing that really held his attention was the Sorting Hat. If he could get Godric Gryffindor's sword out of it, his odds against the basilisk would go up significantly.
That sword was absurdly powerful — one stroke and the basilisk had died.
But whenever he remembered the hat's dirty tricks, Sean's thoughts stalled a little. Dumbledore had given him permission to come up for tea in the headmaster's office on Saturdays; next time he went, he'd have to settle accounts with the Sorting Hat.
~~~
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